


Conflicted

by nugatory



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:01:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29551089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nugatory/pseuds/nugatory
Summary: Moe can't stop thinking about that kiss.
Relationships: Waylon Smithers/Moe Szyslak
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Conflicted

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a couple of weeks after Flaming Moe (S22 E11). This is my first attempt at writing these characters, but I just love this pairing so much. I'm still debating on whether or not to continue this, so I'll see how the feedback is before I decide. Title and rating may change if I do continue.

“What’s the matter, Moe?” Carl asked as he slurped from his mug. “You look a little down in the dumps.” 

Wiping a mug he’s been cleaning for nearly ten minutes, Moe’s mind was a million miles away--or, more aptly, across town on the steps of the courthouse. He barely registered his name, or even the question, before he noticed the lapse in conversation around him. He looked up and found three sets of eyes on him, the fourth set were half-lidded and three sheets to the wind. 

“Huh? Nothin’. C’mon you guys, last call. I wanna close up early tonight.” 

“But--” Homer stammered. “If you close up early, that means I have to go home to my kids.” 

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should think about spendin’ more time with ‘em.” He groused, snatching their near-empty mugs. “Go on, all of ya’s.” 

A loud, rumbling belch came from the barstool nearest the bathroom as the others voiced their complaints, and Moe reached for the broom behind the bar, poking the resident drunk in the shoulder. “You too, Barn. Go on. Get out. Bar’s closed.” 

He locked the door behind them, falling against it with a deep sigh. He didn’t have the energy to go home, but as his eyes swept around the tavern, he didn’t much want to be there either. Mo’s had been the best business venture he’d been on. The place had felt classy, business had been booming, he and Waylon got on pretty well. 

Moe rubbed the back of his neck at the thought of his former business partner. It had all come crashing down when Waylon had outed him as not gay to the entire community. Moe should have been relieved by it--it had been getting harder to come up with excuses of why he didn’t want to go out with any of their patrons--but he wasn’t. Not by a long shot. 

“You’re just lonely, that’s all,” he told himself as he untied his apron and slipped it off over his head, tossing it on the bar on his way to the backroom. He was always lonely. His only friends were his customers, he was too ugly to love... he was a loser, through and through. “Gah, why’d you have to kiss him, you stupid lug?” 

Moe flopped down on the cot in the dark, one foot on the floor as he re-lived that kiss over and over. Waylon had dared him to kiss him to prove he was gay. He couldn’t do it with everyone watching, the guilt that he was lying to all them finally breaking his will and making him confess. But then, everyone had left, and Moe had been left more than just a little curious. Maybe it had been all the time he’d spent around the other men, but whatever it was, he’d pulled Waylon into him, dipping him with a flourish at the top of the courthouse steps, and had kissed him. 

At the time, it hadn’t felt much different than kissing a girl...except that he could smell Waylon’s cologne, and his body was definitely more masculine than most of the broads he’d ever been with. He’d been glad he’d done it, even if a bit weirded out by the fact that his only thought during the kiss was that Waylon was a nice kisser. They hadn’t seen each other or spoken since that day, but here he was...two weeks later...with things back to normal at the bar, and he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. 

Or more specifically, the man who belonged to those lips he’d kissed. 

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about him? It was consuming his every thought. “You ain’t even gay; this is stupid.” He tried to reason with himself, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to see the other man, talk to him...maybe even kiss him again. 

_Why don’t you just call him? Tell him he still hasn’t picked up his last check. That ain’t a lie._

“What? Are you crazy?” 

_C’mon. He probably ain’t even left old man Burns’s house yet. He could drop by the bar on the way to his apartment… You could ask him to stay for a drink…_

“You are crazy…” he grumbled to the voice in his head even as he pushed himself up out of the cot and headed for the phone. He glanced at the clock as he listened to the line ringing. _Uh oh. 12:30? It’s later than I thought._

“Hello? Mr. Burns?” Waylon answered on the 3rd ring, clearly half-asleep. 

“Uh…” Moe fought the urge to slam the phone back down on the cradle. He shouldn’t have called. This was stupid. “N-No. It ain’t Burns.” 

“Moe?” There was obvious confusion, and--was it possible?--concern in Waylon’s gentle baritone voice. “Is everything okay?” 

“Y-Yeah,” Moe stammered, raking a hand through his greying curls. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry I woke youse. I--uh--guess I didn’t know what time it was before I picked up the phone. I--uh--I just--uh...your paycheck. Is still here. That’s all.” 

“You called me in the middle of the night about a paycheck?” Waylon asked sceptically. 

“Yeah. I’m tryin’ to balance the books n’stuff and until you cash it, nothin’s balancing right.” He’d never balanced the books in his life. 

“I see,” Waylon sounded unconvinced. “You could have just mailed it t--” 

“Would ya just come down here and get the stupid check?” 

Silence greeted him on the other end of the line and Moe tugged at his hair, mentally kicking himself. 

“I’m sorry, I just--” 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” The line clicked before Moe could reply. 

Fifteen minutes? 

His palms started to sweat and he rubbed them on his trousers. “Okay, Moe. Don’t panic. He probably ain’t gonna wanna stay--especially after than stupid call. Just give ‘em the check and maybe ask him to stay for a drink. As an apology. Yeah. An apology.” 

He looked in the mirror behind the bar, hoping he looked halfway presentable, and cringed. No self-respecting person would ever be attracted to the likes of him. 

“Jesus...what am I doin’ here? Chasin’ after a guy, and ain’t even gonna get lucky with him because he’s too hung up on someone else. Maybe Grizzly Shawn would still wanna go out… What the hell am I even sayin’?! I ain’t gay!” He ran his fingers back through his curls and tried to straighten his bowtie, though he wasn’t sure why any of it mattered. He was going to have to endure this...whatever this was...until the bitter end, like everything else in his life. 

Unlocking the door, Moe found the check for Waylon next to the register and set it on the bar, then leaned against the wood top, trying not to look like he was waiting. 

“Nah. Too casual.” He picked up the rag and started wiping invisible spots. When the door opened, he felt the vertebrae in his neck crack from looking up too fast. 

Waylon moved to the bar with unpracticed grace, dressed down in a pale pink polo and blue jeans. His bespeckled eyes took in the empty bar before looking at the clock behind Moe’s head. “Business is slow again, hm?” 

Deja vu. Wasn’t that what he’d said just before he’d hatched the idea of turning Moe’s into Mo’s? Moe rubbed the back of his neck, tossing the bar rag over one shoulder. “I--uh--I closed up early tonight.” 

Waylon’s eyebrows rose a fraction as he silently studied Moe, then his gaze dropped to the check on the bar. Without question, he slid the check towards him, folded it in half, and tucked it in his back pocket. An awkward tension hung heavily in the air, and Moe could practically feel it pressing down on him. 

_Say somethin’! Anything!_

“Waylon--” 

“Moe--” 

They both stopped and Moe gave a nervous chuckle. “Youse first, huh.” 

“I…” Waylon’s gaze drifted towards the jukebox, and Moe could have sworn he saw a tender smile tilt the man’s lips. “We had a good thing here.” 

“Yeah, we did,” the forlorn tone brought Waylon’s gaze back around and Moe rubbed the back of his neck again. “Listen, Waylon, the reason I called you tonight… I… well, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about the last time we saw one anothers, and…” 

He could feel his face burning. He’d never been good at this kind of thing. 

“Say, can I get you a drink or somethin’? Scotch n’ water, right? On the house.” 

Whether being gracious or just appreciative of the offer, Waylon nodded and slid onto a barstool, watching Moe reach for a new bottle of scotch and pour a generous amount before adding a spritz of water. Smithers was surprised. He knew from experience that Moe only served the good stuff to the “decent” customers, of which he never seemed to have. He took a sip, then looked back at Moe. “You were saying?” 

“Right…” No way out of this. “Look, can I ask ya somethin’?” 

“Sure.” 

“How--uh--How’d you know youse was...y’know…” 

“Gay?” 

Moe felt like he was about to start a fire on the back of his neck from all the rubbing. “Y-Yeah.” 

“Moe, you’re not gay.” 

“Yeah, no… No, I know. I just…” Waylon’s eyes were boring into him. He could feel beads of sweat rolling down his face. “Just humor me, huh?” 

Waylon gave him a peculiar look, then looked down at the contents in his glass. “It took a long time before I would even admit to myself that I was gay. I was married once--” 

“Oh yeah, yeah I remember you said that before.” 

“You do?” Waylon’s eyes met Moe’s again. He couldn’t recall ever having that conversation with Moe. He rarely ever talked about that time in his life. “When was this?” 

“Yeah, at that marriage class with Homer.” 

He’d forgotten all about that. He swirled the scotch in his glass as he regarded Moe. He’d learned a lot about the other man when they’d been business partners. He was very detail-oriented. He remembered things, noticed things. He’d even noticed when Waylon had gotten a haircut. 1/8th an inch off the top and sides. He didn’t know why he was surprised that Moe would remember the comment he’d made some time ago in a class they’d both been in, but...he felt touched by it. 

“I guess I always knew there was something there,” he finally said. “Something that made me...different. I thought if I just ignored it, did what society expected of me, it’d fade away, but I never loved my wife. I had to drink just to make it bearable. I spent as much time as I could at work with Mr. Burns just to avoid her. When I did come home, she’d beg me to make love to her, but I got to the point where I couldn’t even bear the thought of it. She blamed Mr. Burns, saying he had turned me into a raging workaholic, but she didn’t understand that I preferred to be with him. Even after she left, I still couldn’t admit to myself I was gay. I...fantasized a lot...mostly about Monty, and my therapist tried to pass it off as ‘daddy issues’, but I knew what it was. I was in love with Mr. Burns, and I was gay.” 

“Why Burns though, huh? You could have any guy in Springfield. Hell, youse could have any guy in Shelbyville for that matter. Why are you so hung up on that old geezer?” 

Waylon harrumphed at the slight towards Mr. Burns, his eyes narrowing as he sipped his scotch. “Why Marge Simpson?” He couldn’t resist biting back. 

“Touche,” Moe replied sheepishly, his long standing crush on Homer’s wife hadn’t been a secret for years. “But seriously…” 

“I have had a few boyfriends,” Waylon shrugged, reflecting on how he’d never felt the same for them that he did for Burns. They’d had a good time, the sex was great, but they weren’t Monty. In the end, they’d all left him, tired of trying to win a heart that would always belong to another. “I’m sure my therapist would have a lot to say on the matter, but...” 

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Moe said knowingly, but the way he was looking at Waylon suggested he wasn’t thinking about the blue-haired beauty. He dropped his gaze, pulling the rag off his shoulder and wiping down the bar once more. “I was just curious is all.” 

Something clicked in Smithers’ mind, and suddenly it all made sense--the midnight call, the nervousness, the questions. Though he still doubted Moe was gay, he recognized the conflict. He’d been surprised by the kiss on the courthouse steps, but definitely not disappointed by it. Waylon had always wanted to be swept off his feet in a romantic gesture as Moe had done, he’d just always imagined it to be Monty...not Moe. 

As Moe wiped the bar between them, Waylon lifted his hand from his glass and laid it on top of Moe’s. The bartender froze, staring at their hands, barely able to breathe. “I gotta be honest here,” Moe said, unusually demure. “This feels really nice, and I don’t know how I feel about that.” 

Waylon couldn’t help the smug smile that tugged at his lips, moving his hand up to gently squeeze Moe’s wrist before pulling his hand back and throwing back the rest of his scotch and water. He slid off the bar and was halfway to the door before he spoke, head turned over his shoulder to eye the bartender. “If you figure it out, give me a call sometime.” 

Moe stared after the other man long after he’d left the bar, skin still warm and tingly where Waylon had touched him. A rat chittered a few feet to his left, breaking his gaze, and he glared over at it. “Yeah? What of it, huh? Get outta here before I make hors d'oeuvres out of ya.” 

The rat scampered off and Moe swiped the glass off the bar, washing and drying it before locking the bar up once more, no closer to sorting out his feelings than he was before he called Waylon.


End file.
